What? It’s February - and four days in already?

The month of the Superbowl, the Olympics, and my half-birthday (today!)?

I forgot to pay my rent. FORGOT. That will be remedied ASAP.

In the meantime, now seemed like a good time to update the About Me and FAQ pages here on ye olde blog.

According to the internets, I am a Colorado resident once I meet one of the following criteria:

•    I have obtained employment in Colorado.
•    I own or operate a business in Colorado.
•    I have resided in Colorado continuously for 90 or more days.

Well, I moved here with a job.  So.  That’s that.  We’ll see if I actually switch my license plates or drivers license over; as of today, they are still from the great state of Washington – a place I haven’t lived for over two years.

For those of you keeping track, I had a trip to Seattle scheduled for this week – to ring in the New Year with some of my not-so-nearest, but definitely dearest.  But I’m sad to say that this weekend, I canceled my ticket.  I thought that the hard part would be leaving Nashville, but I was wrong; the emotional locomotive hit me once I got to Colorado – and I think it would be wise for me to have some downtime before officially moving to Denver next week (I start in the Denver office a week from today, although I’m working remotely from Colorado Springs this week).  I’m super bummed to not be seeing my beloved Seattlites this week – but I’ll be there for a wedding in February.

I drove around Denver on Saturday.  It is gigantic.  As I drove the hour south back to my parents’ house, two fat tears rolled down my cheeks from behind my sunglasses.

This might take awhile.

You know that old spiritual, “Ain’t Got Time to Die”?  Right now, I’m hearing it in my head - but changing it to “Ain’t Got Time to Blog.”  Also, a choir of white people is singing it, which adds to the weirdness.

In a way - a way I cannot pinpoint aside from the subject of “counterfeit” - this reminds me of a horribly unauthentic Irish pub in Overland Park, Kansas, called Paddy O’Quigley’s.

One time, just out of curiosity, Jeremy and Ashley and I went.  It was pretty much as bad as we thought it would be - in a strip mall, fake brick walls, neon signs for Michelob Ultra.

But it was all worth it when we found out that Becca thought it was called Patio Quigley’s.

That just makes me happy to remember.

I left Seattle two years ago today.

Last year, I wrote a big dramatic soliloquy about my feelings.

This year, I honestly don’t know what to say.

I feel flummoxed.

But wherever you go, there you are.

Whatever that means.

My life is really awesome.  And if I were the F-bomb using type, I’d throw one of those in: my life is really F-ing awesome.  I LOVE my life here in Nashville.

That said, I’m feeling overwhelmed with everything going on – and yes, that is a monstrous understatement.

I have a new job that is taking up every ounce of brainpower I can muster – mostly because I am learning how to think like the Internet thinks (funny – I thought it just knew).  I wasn’t prepared for how exhausting starting this new job would be.  Thankfully, it’s a good tired.

I have the world’s most amazing roommates.  I have fantastic friends – the number of which is growing exponentially, meaning no shortage of social gatherings.  I am involved in a church that I love.  I’m trying to eat right and sleep enough and manage my bank account and purchase necessary plane tickets and maybe occasionally shower.  And on top of it all, I am training for this blasted half-marathon – which is happening 2 weeks from tomorrow.

I am slammed.

Until future notice, I think that I’ll be forced to give up songwriting, keeping up with “The Office,” cookie baking, reading in all forms, and – the bane of my existence – phone calls of any sort.

Except with my mom and Greta, of course.

This is a season.  Mama said there’ll be days like this, there’ll be days like this, Mama said.  And I know that I’ll settle into a rhythm soon enough.  Until then, I am experiencing the overwhelming, all-consuming, crazy-making reality of BUSYNESS.

“If you had no job, you could be so productive!”

This is basically the biggest lie since “There are no cats in America.”

I believed it. I fell for it. I spent my working days fantasizing about all that I could get done if I didn’t have a job: reading, writing, exercising, cooking, cleaning, organizing – in general, getting it DONE, and becoming the woman that I’ve always dreamed of being.

But there is a problem: when one has nothing on her schedule, no time constraints, no responsibilities – not to mention, no income – then it’s hard to do ANYTHING. Laziness begets laziness. In theory, I now have all the time in the world to do things – and so it’s no big loss if I don’t do it now. So I don’t really do anything at all. Except make cookies. And check our mailbox everyday at 2pm.

My mind, completely un-stimulated, has been a dry well. I have had nothing to write about – no creativity whatsoever. PZC says that his best writing is done when he’s supposed to be doing something else – and I agree with him. When I sit down with the grand expectation and intention of writing, and I have no time constraints, and no deadlines, and nothing to prod my brain, then I usually wind up with nothing but a blank page.

Last night, Julie and Mel came upstairs to find me in the child’s pose on my bedroom floor, silent and depressed. All of our friends had gone home after our St. Paddy’s Day barbeque, and I was feeling so sad I could hardly stand it. Why? Why does sadness sometimes hit me out of nowhere, like an Atlantic swell?

They got down on the floor with me, and scratched my back, and made me laugh, and then we all talked about our lives, our hopes, our disappointments. In the end, because I have the best roommates in the universe, we prayed together.

It’s a new day. I am grateful to wake up in it. And I am hopeful for what it might contain.

In general, I am not a forgetful person. I remember important dates, items on my grocery list, and words both tender and toxic. It’s a rare occurrence for me to miss an appointment due to negligence. I can hear a song one time, and be able to sing back the chorus word-for-word. I don’t need a recipe for chocolate chip cookies. No, when it comes to the important things, I do not easily forget.

Which makes it very odd that I left my keys IN MY FRONT DOORKNOB overnight. I slept soundly, thinking that I was safely locked inside my apartment, when I truly could have been murdered, had my house ransacked, and my car stolen. I suppose they would have been justified, though, because have you seen my hot ride?

Nightmarish scenarios aside, there’s another realm in which I can be forgetful. When it comes to the past, I tend to be a revisionist. I look back at certain times in my life with great nostalgia, under the illusion that everything was perfect when it wasn’t. I forget the hard times – I forget the reality. I convince myself that my life in Seattle was flawless, when in all actuality, I know that I struggled with the same things that I struggle with now: insecurity, loneliness, lack of purpose, lack of discipline. Instead, I remember the friendships. I remember feeling needed. I remember feeling seen. I remember the cozy weather. I remember medical insurance. I remember the water and the mountains and the drive-up coffee stands. And as shallow as it is, I remember my hair being long.

Ah, yes, times were good.

It’s easy to forget the bad, in the same way that it’s easy to forget that your ex-boyfriend wore sweatpants with elastic around the ankles.

I want to remember my past for what it was – being both grateful for the gifts, and mindful of the pain. But more than that, I want to accept the present – with everything that it brings, good and bad, ugly and awesome. I want to be here now. I want to live.

Which will probably require never forgetting my keys in the door again.

- To go to bed every night by 10pm?
- To attempt to eat from the food pyramid?
- To create a budget?
- To have kids I used to babysit for getting engaged?
- To have friends getting married?
- To have friends getting divorced?
- To have friends getting boob jobs?
- To have a retirement account?
- To buy age-defying makeup?
- To experience an existential crisis?
- To worry – really worry – about the world, the environment, and the government?
- To refer to myself as a “woman,” and not as a “girl”?
- To plan my upcoming weekend around home improvement projects?

That’s right, folks. My weekend will be consumed with stripping and refinishing some bedroom furniture. And when I say “stripping,” I am referring to paint, and not to my clothing. Although that would most certainly give the neighbors something to talk about.

I have absolutely no idea how to go about this task – but that’s what the internet is for. I am researching the appropriate methods online, and then crossing my fingers as I begin the job this evening. Here’s hoping that Monday brings a glorious victory post, and not an “L is for LAME.”

I spend a lot of time in the past and in the future. I think back on how things once were, and I look ahead in anticipation of what might eventually come. It’s hard work to dwell in the present.

I am often tempted to look at my “present” as being on a merry-go-round. Life can be so daily, round and round it goes, and the humdrum nature of the mundane lulls me into a daze. I walk around like I am only half-alive, simply going through the motions: driving to work, answering emails, shopping for groceries, eating, walking, sleeping. And then I wake up the next day and do it all over again – trudging on the treadmill of life.

It’s so much easier to dwell in the concrete, already-happened reality of the past, or to dream about the limitless possibilities of the future. When it comes to my thought life, I often adopt the mindset of “Anywhere But Here.”

But the present is the only time that we can experience God’s love. The present is the only time that we can forgive. The present is the only time that we can accept grace. We can remember God’s faithfulness in the past, and look forward to it in the future with great expectation, but this moment is all that we really have. It is all that we are really promised.

Today, I am thinking about things in my past – the good, the bad, and the very, very ugly. I am tempted to allow these things to dictate my present state of mind – whether it is longing for the way that things once were, or harboring un-forgiveness for a time that I was wronged, or wishing to reverse some major regrets. But God says, “Behold, I am doing a new thing” (Isaiah 43:19). I want to open my eyes to the new thing – the now.

I am also thinking about things in my future – the hopes and dreams, as well as the fears. It’s tempting to immerse myself in the unknown, and spend up all of my energy attempting to anticipate things that I really have no control over. I want to figure out what my future holds, and then plan for it – emotionally, mentally, physically, spiritually, financially. I want to have it all mapped out, so I won’t be thrown for a loop. But Jesus says, “Don’t be anxious for tomorrow, for tomorrow will be anxious for itself” (Matthew 6:34). I want to take the energy that I have been spending on worrying and planning, and devote it to living fully in this present moment.

The present is not a waste of time. The present – this moment, what I am doing today, my tasks and activities and relationships and interactions – hold huge, miraculous meaning. And I want to start living like it.

Okay, let’s level.

I have been on The Big Trip for 6-weeks now, and in the midst of having a blast, today is the first day that I have had to remind myself, “You are having fun. No really, this is a GOOD thing. You are happy and doing well. Believe it.” I am having an amazing time seeing new cities, visiting friends, exploring, and meeting new people - but… ugh, I don’t know. I am such a nester. I love having my home, my stuff, my routine, and the feeling that I am being productive. And after 6-weeks without a real home, or job, or sense of stability, I am starting to feel a little bit sad.

It is amazing to be here in Nashville, the city that I will soon call “home.” It is a vibrant community, full of young energy and music and interesting people. There is life to be lived here, and I cannot wait to jump in head-first in January. But right now, I feel a little bit crippled in that I DON’T live here, DON’T have a home, DON’T have a job, DON’T have any idea what my life here will look like. So how do I engage? How do I approach the city and the people? I am currently without definition. I don’t know how delineate myself, aside from being a girl with a suitcase who forgot all of her jewelry in Kansas City.

But I suppose that life cannot wait. I cannot just pause until January, when I assume my life will really begin again. This is my life, right here, right now. It’s a time unlike any other I will probably ever have.

And so on Saturday night, when I was being driven by a quadrapilegic in a wheelchair-accessible van to former-President Andrew Jackson’s homestead for a haunted tour of the grounds, I had to pinch myself. When a new friend took me to a bar set up in a greenhouse and opened my car door for me just because this is what guys in the south do, I had to chuckle. When I attended a church service alone and cried through all of the music just because it is amazing to hear an entire room of people sing, I simply sat in wonder. Is this my life?

Yes. Yes it is. And I choose to be here now.